In business, hatred is rarely worn openly. It is pressed flat, polished smooth, and hidden behind smiles firm enough to pass for sincerity.
Logan Rhodes understands this better than most.
The Class-A tournament finals draw a full house. Cameras sweep the arena, flashes popping as sponsors, executives, and officials take their seats.
The front row is reserved for names that matter; money, influence, and the quiet power that shapes outcomes long before the bell rings.
And Logan sits among them, posture relaxed, suit immaculate, expression composed to the point of elegance.
Nakahara emerges from the aisle with his team, their presence modest beneath the glare of sponsor banners and arena lights.
Logan rises with the front row. His applause is restrained, perfectly timed. When Nakahara looks his way, Logan meets the glance with an easy nod and a courteous smile, warm enough for the cameras, neutral enough to mean nothing happens between them.
